Ladies' Day Out
by SilverShadow44
Summary: Lily Fortune Gordon and her mother are worried that Lily and Artemus' daughter Amanda isn't learning how to be a proper young lady, so they decide to take her to one of Chicago's finest tearooms for a lesson on etiquette. What can possibly go wrong? With a desperate fugitive on the loose, plenty . . . .
1. Stern Measures

**Ladies' Day Out**

The moment Artemus Gordon dreaded had come, as he knew sooner or later it must. A career with the Secret Service battling criminals and villains of every description – evil, ruthless, desperate or mad – had prepared him for many encounters, but it hadn't prepared him for this. Still, he was no coward. A war and law enforcement-hardened veteran, he would face this day and do what he must.

"Angel dumpling," he continued, "what I'm trying to say is that just because the snow has drifted high enough that you and Tem _can_ toboggan off the barn roof, it doesn't mean that you _should_ toboggan off the barn roof."

"Yes, Daddy."

Those utterly innocent, utterly guileless brown eyes stared up at him with a look that could've disarmed a cannon. His little girl with her pretty dark curls had inherited his coloring rather than her mother's. So how was it those great big eyes of hers could weaken his every resolve as effectively as Lily's?

"So you _will_ try harder not to do things like that and worry your mother and me quite so much?"

And there it was. The hesitation he'd known to expect while his darling little jailhouse lawyer of a daughter tried to work out how she could promise not to be better behaved but rather how to be better at not getting caught. Because behind those innocent brown eyes lurked a brain that was every bit as powerful, creative and yes, downright naughty and sneaky as his own. Damn it all, in addition to his hair and eyes did she _have_ to inherit the cunning and guile too? Great Aunt Maude had often scolded Artemus in his youth that his sins would be visited back on him someday. Now he knew the form that punishment would take. And speaking of punishment . . . . Oh well, might as well get this over with . . . .

"Or . . . ."

Damn it, there was that treacherous cute and innocent expression again. The one that was so . . . effective.

"Or your mother and I will be _very_ disappointed in you, young lady!" Artemus threw in a finger-wagging for emphasis.

"Yes, Daddy."

Well there – at least his little girl had agreed with him about something. Because the truth was, he more than understood the desire to toboggan off the barn roof. He'd have done it himself at her age, even knowing his own father would've tanned his hide for it. That's practically what giant snow drifts next to barn roofs were put on Earth _for_. But Amanda and Tem's nascent daredevil skills had demonstrated themselves at the worst possible time. That is, while Artemus Gordon's mother-in-law Prudence Fortune Peters was present. Artemus didn't have to wonder what Prudence thought of his parenting skills – she was always eager to tell him. And today was no exception.

"Oh, Artemus," Lily said, shaking her head as Amanda went off to pursue whatever her next form of mischief might be. Double whammy. Lily _and _her mother had both been listening in on the father-daughter conversation, and it was clear that the two women judges in his life were prepared to bang the gavel on a 'guilty' verdict.

Naturally seniority dictated which judge got to go first.

"You call that a reprimand?" Prudence snorted, hands on hips. "You're a real quilt of iron, you are, Artemus Gordon!"

"Now come on," he argued defensively. "I think I got my point across."

"No, darling, you didn't," Lily corrected. "I heard the whole thing too. Amanda didn't agree not to misbehave. She agreed that we'd be very disappointed if we caught her doing it! That's hardly a concession. She didn't promise not to misbehave at all."

"Well, that's because she takes oaths and promises very seriously," Artemus said. "She doesn't give her word lightly, that's all. Doesn't make a promise she might not be able to keep. Rather commendable, when you think about it."

"I can see where she gets it from!" Prudence snorted again. "Lily, you thought you were marrying an actor and Secret Service agent, but you left out the shyster occupation!"

"Oh, now wait just a minute here!" Artemus protested.

"Or maybe patent medi-"

"Stop it, you two!" Lily shouted, putting her arms up between her husband and her mother, not that the two had ever come to blows or ever would. But if Prudence needed a reminder of why Artemus occasionally called his wife 'Tiger Lily,' she was about to get one. "Mother, that was completely uncalled for! Now you apologize to Artemus _this instant_! I mean it!"

Those Gordon women, Artemus thought. Their eyes could either disarm cannons or become the cannon! After Prudence, in the face of superior fire, gave a grudging and one-word apology to her son-in-law, it was Artemus' turn to have his own ramparts threatened, he saw.

"And as for _you_, Artemus," Lily argued, "I know she's still your little girl now, but she can't stay that way forever! She's growing up, and she needs to learn how to act like a young lady – not just a mischief-maker. How is she ever going to learn to do that if you're too soft to discipline her when she needs it? Your own father disciplined you when we were children – I know he did! You're _her_ father – you need to do the same for her. And before you even suggest it . . . ." Lily prodded him in the chest hard with the tip of her right index finger, "this is every bit as much your job as it is mine! I shouldn't always have to be the stern one while you're a . . . a . . . ."

"Quilt of iron?" he asked.

"Yes. I mean, no. Something softer than iron." Lily considered this for a few seconds. "Copper, maybe."

_Ouch._

"But Lil . . . ."

"No buts, Mr. Artemus Gordon! I-"

"No, wait," Prudence interrupted, placing a hand on her daughter's arm. "Perhaps it _does_ have to be up to us, my girl. Deny it or not, your dear father could be just as quilty sometimes – as I recall. If we're going to teach that headstrong young rascal of yours some proper manners, it's a job that can't just be handed over to the weaker sex." Prudence' drawl left no doubt as to which sex she thought that was. "She has to learn, and it _should _be from women, and that husband of yours has no idea how to be one," she gave Artemus a sidelong glance, "even if he _does _know how to put on a dress!"

Artemus groaned. So his dear mother-in-law knew _those_ stories about his old cases, did she? He was really going to have to have a word with Lily about that. And Jim. And Frank, Jeremy and Ned, come to think of it. And possibly Colonel Richmond and the entire Secret Service present and retired . . . . Commit a truly brave act to rescue your partner and serve your country and you were just never allowed to live it down!

"Mother, don't start," Lily scolded, putting a bit of extra growl into it, before conceding that Prudence might have a point. "Artemus has impeccable manners, as you perfectly well know. But you're right - they are a man's manners and not a woman's manners. You and I will need to set the example for her. A day out in Chicago at an appropriate venue to see such things might do her a world of good."

It would do _Artemus Gordon_ a world of good too if it got Prudence out of their house for a day, Artemus thought. Prudence and Lyle should have returned to their own home in Northern California by now following their Christmas visit. If only the weather had decided to be more cooperative this holiday . . . . No one would ever forget the terrible, tragic blizzard that had struck Artemus' native New York and Boston only a few short years ago. With reports of train lines and stagecoach routes blocked by snow along the Continental Divide these past two weeks, the little Gordon family had been forced to reconcile themselves with having Grandma and Grandpa Peters' stay extended far more than at least two, possibly three or four of the adults involved would have liked. Being cooped up in tiny Millwood Grove while the roads to Chicago were cleared hadn't helped matters any. A day of breathing room now that the roads were cleared, in Illinois anyway, might do them _all_ a world of good, whether it helped his precious little pumpkin to act more like a member of the fair sex or not. The daily temperatures were about right for it too. One could take the horse trolley now without running the risk of freezing to death or being bogged down in mud – a happy medium range.

"However, Artemus . . . ." Lily added.

Whoops! Not quite off the hook yet.

"I really do mean it about discipline! You can't simply let her wrap you around her little finger every time!"

"How can I not?" he asked, wrapping his arms around his wife as if Prudence weren't there watching. "I already let her wonderful, lovely mother do that, don't I?" Amanda Gordon wasn't the only one who could conjure an innocent puppy dog look in this family. His daughter had learned it from somewhere all right.

"Oh, you!" Lily protested, but she did nothing to stop him from kissing her on those magnificent, soft lips of hers.

"Like daughter, like father," Prudence grumbled, but took the hint and left the kitchen to give the younger parents in the house some privacy.

[WWWWWWWWWWW]

"So that's the story," Artemus finished saying to his best friend and Secret Service partner James West. "And Lily wants to include your wife too, whether Adele cares for such martyrdom or not."

"I'm sure she can handle it," Jim grinned. "I've never heard of Prudence giving her any trouble. She seems to save that up for you."

"Don't remind me," Artemus grimaced. "And speaking of stories . . . ." He knew exactly what he wanted to say, but now that he was talking to Jim, he realized it might be a case of closing the barn door after the horses had bolted. But Jim took advantage of his conversational pause.

"I've got one for you," Jim said.

"Oh?"

"According to one of our sources, your in-laws and mine aren't the only ones who may be stuck in the area. Someone spotted Louis Lipinski in Chicago yesterday."

"Louis . . . ?" Artemus' eyes opened wide. "You mean Louie the Lip?"

Jim nodded.

"A bit far from his last reported stomping ground, isn't it? I thought Jeremy and Kate had trailed him all the way to the Mexican border before they lost him. What would he be doing up here?"

"Maybe he didn't endear himself to some folks in Mexico," Jim shrugged. "Or maybe they got wind of the price on his head and the climate suddenly got a little too hot for him. You know the bounty the Cropout Gang is offering is even bigger than the one the government's put out?"

"Yes." Arte did know it. "Except we need to catch him alive so he can tell us what he knows about the Cropout operation and they want him dead for precisely the same reason. Jim, that guy could be the most important stool pigeon out there since Norbert Plank!"

"So what say we take a look for ourselves while the ladies are having their tea on the town? My in-laws are just as stranded as your in-laws, and they'll be happy to mind their grandson for the day and keep Lyle company."

"That's because _your_ mother-in-law is a holy blessed saint, as Kate would say. And so's my godson, for that matter."

"Ha!" Jim exclaimed. "But you know Ma Johnston won't go anywhere near the city if she can help it. It's all we can do to get her to travel here by train."

"Yeah, we know, or Lily would be inviting her too. Think she'll think we're being rude for not asking?"

"Nah. She'll be fine with it. Probably think you're doing her a favor, which you are. And that means we can have a whole day to look for Louie."

"Sounds like a plan – except for one thing," Artemus told him. _As if Jim didn't perfectly well know!_ "I'm not a field agent anymore, remember? I only work for the Secret Service on a _consulting_ basis – no dangerous stuff! If I go out there and get killed, Lily would never forgive me for it! I'd never forgive myself either – I'm a family man with responsibilities and so are you, for that matter." He prodded Jim with one accusatory finger just as Lily had done with _him_ earlier. But the younger man appeared unrepentant.

"Aw, c'mon, Arte! Who said anything about danger?" Jim grinned. "Lipinski may be a first-rate counterfeiter, creative accountant and crook, but no one's ever accused him of violence. If we do find him, we just arrest him and that's it, plain and simple. It'll be a snap."

"A snap - I seem to recall that's what you once said about Norbert Plank!" Artemus scowled. "And may I remind you, James, the Cropout gang makes Diamond Dave Desmond look like a village parson by comparison? If one of our government's sources spotted Louie the Lip here, that means someone may have told the Cropouts as well. Have you thought about that?"

Jim nodded.

"All the more reason for us to find Lipinski before they do. It's our patriotic duty. Lily would understand that, wouldn't she?"

Artemus put up both of his hands, palms outward, to forestall any further conversation along these lines.

"Forget it, Jim! No way! There is absolutely not one word you can say that will convince me to go along with this crazy plan of yours – not one! My mind is made up!"

It took several words, actually . . . .


	2. Getting Started

"You know, I ought to see if our old friend Madame Phalah is still in business," Arte muttered as he and Jim rode out at the crack of dawn the next day, well ahead of the horse trolley.

"And why's that, Arte? Her psychic abilities?"

"No! It's because I ought to have my head examined for this! Do you realize what's going to happen if our wives find out we're not just entering Chicago for a pleasant day's diversion like they are?"

"I've thought about it," Jim frowned. "But there's no guarantee that won't be all it is. We've got a good line on where Lipinski's staying, but that doesn't mean we'll find him. He could be anywhere in Chicago by now, or already on one of the trains that hasn't been delayed. We'll have to check out the train schedules."

"But you think there's a reasonable chance, or we wouldn't be doing this, right?"

"Have I ever been unreasonable?" Jim waited for Arte's spluttering and mock gagging and coughing sounds to die down before continuing. "Yes, I think there's a reasonable chance, and yes, I think there's a possibility others may have gotten the word he's in town too. That means the Cropout gang is only one of our worries. With that much money riding on Lipinski, a lot of reward-seekers may be looking for him. So could some of the folks Louie gypped out of money over the years."

"And I'll bet _that's_ a lovely crowd to hear from too," Arte said sourly. Then another, still more worrisome thought came to his mind. "If there's a possibility of that many troublemakers being in the city right now, is it even a good idea to let our womenfolk go there?" Artemus reined in his horse and looked back in the direction of home. "Maybe this outing of theirs isn't such a good idea after all."

"I thought you said they were going to a women-only tea place on Madison?"

"Mademoiselle Cecilia's Tearoom," Artemus nodded. "Very swank and ladies only, according to Lil. Men aren't even allowed to work there, much less be customers. Yeah, I guess it's about as far from being a trouble spot as any place in the city gets, unless you're afraid of overpriced tea cakes and high society gossip!" He felt a little ashamed to realize Jim had halted his horse too and now looked more worried than he had a minute ago. Artemus might be the more cautious one of the two men, but no one could accuse Jim of being anything less than zealously protective of his wife and young son. The fact that Jim hadn't minded up to this point knowing Adele would be going on the sortie with Lily, Amanda and Prudence meant that he'd felt little need for such concern. And why should he? Wherever the small criminal element that Chicago had hung out, it wouldn't be in a fashionable Ladies' tea salon. It's not as if the establishment was being run by Emma Valentine, for heaven's sake!

"Sorry," Artemus mumbled, reining his horse forward once more. "Guess I'm starting to turn into a real worry-wart in my old age."

"We're not old yet, partner!" Jim's grin returned as he wheeled his horse around and they continued on to Chicago.

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

"Now dear, I'd like you to be on your best behavior today."

"Yes, Mommy," Amanda replied.

_And you too, Mother!_ Lily Gordon thought, though she didn't say it aloud. She dearly loved her mother. She dearly loved her husband. She also knew that deep down inside, though you'd have needed to boil them in oil to get either one to admit it, Artemus and her mother had acquired a (very) grudging respect and affection for one another. So why, oh why, was trying to manage the two of them together a task akin to . . . oh, juggling live weasels or something? Not that Lily had ever juggled live weasels, but at the moment she was wondering if that might actually have been easier. It was as if there were three children living under her roof right now instead of only one!

Well today was going to be different, if Lily Fortune Gordon had anything to say about it! They'd all been going a bit stir-crazy after more than a week of being blizzard-bound back at the house. Time to clear one's head with a nice outing, some nice hot beverages and pastries, and possibly even a poetry reading or some music in a more refined atmosphere. If Amanda enjoyed it, perhaps they could make it a regular sort of a thing – a good mother-daughter bonding time. Lily didn't harbor any illusions about Amanda growing into a naïve, delicate little flower of womanhood – she didn't _want _her daughter growing up to be some helpless poppet, any more than she or her mother had been that kind of a woman, but someday her daughter would need to know at least how to act the part of a lady when she had to. That day was coming all too soon and Amanda would have to learn a lot of things that Artemus simply couldn't teach her. Lily gazed at her bundled-up little darling as their party of four mounted the steps of the horse trolley taking them to town and shook her head. Nine years old already! How had the time flown by so quickly? It didn't seem possible and yet . . . .

Lily glanced back at her mother and Adele and was startled to realize Prudence had an unaccustomed softer emotion on her face and had been looking not at her grand-daughter but at Lily! Naturally, Prudence being Prudence, Lily's mother glanced away and resumed her customary gruff expression the moment she realized she was being observed. But it was too late – the mask had slipped.

_I guess we never stop being our parents' little girls, no matter how old we get._

Lily felt a pang of grief and memory at the thought of all the suffering and struggles that had made her mother what she was now. Few people still alive could recall what Prudence had been like when young and not yet a grieving widow. Lily silently blessed Lyle Peters every day for bringing back a measure of that long-lost happiness to her mother's cheeks. Because Lily remembered – remembered too the anguish and all the heartbreaking terror and sadness-filled months after men knocking at their door first brought word of her father's fatal accident. Memories of the relatives with little empathy, kindness or useful advice. Memories of the greedy vultures and shameless business partners who'd all thought they could take advantage of the 'naïve' widow with a lone daughter to raise – men who learned otherwise, to their own cost. Lily vividly remembered her mother's personal pain – the one complaint that Prudence always kept to herself. That was the main reason Lily had turned down Artemus' first marriage proposal years ago. He was already married to a dangerous, important, unpredictable life in the Secret Service back then and Lily wasn't sure she could ever be as strong as her mother had been if the worst happened. She still wasn't sure.

And now Lily was the mother of a daughter who had already faced one of life's hard lessons far too young, just last summer. Lily and her mother didn't really talk about the incident in which Amanda had been attacked, left bruised and frightened by a schoolyard bully boy. They didn't talk about the very real self-defense training Artemus, Amanda's 'Uncle' Jim and other Secret Service professionals had been giving her since that day.

_No wonder Amanda acts more like a rough-and-tumble boy than a girl_, Lily realized, looking over at her daughter once more. Of course, there had always been a certain element of that to Amanda's makeup, but now . . . . In trying to protect her, in teaching her how to protect herself, had they been responsible for warping her also? Expecting too much? Were they putting too much pressure on one little nine year old girl?

_So much for a stress-relieving day out_, Lily scolded herself. Between Amanda's new martial arts lessons and society's expectations of what a 'proper' young lady ought to be, how could any girl – even one as gifted as Amanda – figure out how to behave? It was a real puzzle. And it wasn't as if Amanda hadn't figured out perfectly well for herself how to _mis_behave, when she wanted to. She was, as her grandmother had said, her father's daughter after all . . . .

Not that Artemus had better be getting up to any mischief at the moment!

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

"I'd say that looks like trouble, wouldn't you, Jim?" Arte whispered as they checked out the shady alcoves of Chicago's Central Railroad Depot from a few even shadier alcoves.

"Mm-hm," Jim murmured back. Salva 'Sluggy' Infanto was at least the third Cropout enforcer they'd spotted in what they'd thought would be a quick and easy reference check of schedules at the city's main railroad depot. There were other stations, but if Louie the Lip wanted a quick getaway from this town, this was the one he'd most likely travel from. The Cropout gang obviously had heard about Louie's locale too and had the same idea. But these enforcers were more brawn than brains from the look of things, not professionally trained spies. If they couldn't conceal their presence here better than this . . . .

"Louie the Lip will never fall for that lot," Arte observed.

"No, but they might be doing us a favor," Jim whispered. "If they're here watching the train station, that's one less location we have to worry about ourselves. Louie's too smart, as you say."

"So – the pigeon's roost next?" Artemus suggested as the two agents slipped out of the Central Depot with Cropout's lookouts appearing to take no notice of them.

"Definitely," Jim agreed. He was the one who had that roost's address, and it fit the profile of where a too-hot tenant might seek to hide out while there was a price on his head. Chicago's slums, like city slums everywhere, had more than their share of criminals and underworld individuals who carved up those forbidding territories like personal portions of meat. For all the overcrowded squalor, no newcomer would have gone unnoticed in such a place. But thanks to the Great Fire, this burgeoning and prosperous town had fewer of those districts than most. Chicago did have plenty of middle-class residential and mercantile neighborhoods not far from the central 'Loop,' with a wealth of modest hotels and boarding houses. Lipinski might have been able to afford the city's ritziest place money-wise, but the other demands of necessity had placed him – according to Jim's informants – at a joint called the Harrington House Hotel. It was just a short ride from the Central Depot . . . .

. . . . and possibly another dead end. There were no clumsy or obvious lookouts posted by the hotel that either agent could see. The building had all the makings that might appeal to a rat who didn't want to be caught in a trap though: large front entrance facing a busy street, one side of the building running along an only slightly less busy street, with a side entrance, a rear entrance/exit onto a wide alleyway large enough to accommodate horse cart deliveries, and the fourth side abutting a narrower alley, but with plenty of fire escape ladders for tenants on the upper floors, the Great Fire's lessons not yet forgotten.

"Boy, oh boy," Artemus muttered. "Four potential exits to cover and only two of us. Too bad Kate and Jeremy aren't in town and Lyle's so far past it."

By mutual agreement, Arte went around to the back servants/delivery entrance armed with several well-honed 'city inspector' routines and some remarkably generic but official-looking permit papers. Jim, as usual, would be the one to take the direct approach via the hotel lobby.

"Why, yes," the Harrington House clerk said as Jim peeked over the front desk at the clerk's register. "We _do_ have a Mr. Alan Hunnicutt staying here." The clerk's face became curious at Jim's question, though not because he would have had any suspicion that a hotel guest might be registered under a false name. "Room 303. My, he certainly is a popular man today! You know, I don't believe his other visitor has come back down yet."

"Other . . . ?"

Jim was already racing up the steps of the hotel's central staircase two at a time when he heard the scream.


	3. A Rummy Business

"May I take your coat, Madame?" the Maitresse D' asked.

Seeing the suspicious look on Prudence Fortune Peters' features and noticing her mother's hesitation, Lily Gordon held her breath for several seconds. Resolving some great, internal debate, Prudence at last removed and handed over her very precious and expensive fur coat. The coat had been this year's Christmas present from Lyle, and Prudence wasn't much minded to entrust it to strangers, even proper ones carrying this out – temporarily – as an assigned task. Maybe expecting Prudence to exhibit proper, polite manners in a refined setting, much less teach them, hadn't been such a brilliant idea after all, Lily reconsidered. Too late now. They had arrived at Madame Cecilia's and there was no chance of choosing an alternate destination in which her not-so-genteel mother's fussiness would attract less notice. Lily handled the removal and tendering of her own coat and Amanda's more smoothly, as did Jim's wife Adele. But looking around as their small group entered the high-class tea salon, she already felt a trifle uneasy.

_Fortune favors the brave_, Lily told herself. That had been one of Prudence's favorite expressions while Lily was growing up. Lily was glad now that her acting career had taught her to disregard stage fright. All four of them were on stage at this venue, it seemed, and the other players – or should they be considered the audience? – were watching their every move as another daintily dressed Maitresse D' guided them to a table. That was the trouble with places one went to 'see and be seen' – one wasn't always adequately prepared for the 'be seen' part. It was clear, doing the seeing bit, that their quartet did not quite match most of the other clientele here.

"Hmmphh!" Prudence grunted in a not terribly ladylike fashion as they took their seats and were handed long, thin, elegant menus by their assigned waitress. Lily held her breath again, waiting for her mother's expected complaint about the prices, but exhaled in relief when none came. Perhaps they'd be able to get through the next few hours without incident after all. The proud grandmama really _was_ on her best behavior today. But their table drew a few stares from Mademoiselle Cecilia's other guests and it wasn't hard to understand why. They made up an odd, motley crew for a foursome here – Amanda being one of only two young girls in this establishment, with an outfit that coordinated well with her mother's, but not so much with her bulkier, bolder grandmother's paisley. And Adele . . . . Lily repressed a sigh. Adele West was a wonderful, warm, intelligent and upstanding woman who had rapidly become one of Lily's dearest friends, for all that she was a good twenty years Lily's junior, but 'elegant' and 'sophisticated' were never adjectives that one would apply to Jim West's wife. Adele remained as humble, plainly attired and yes, homespun, as when she'd first met her husband in her native Hope Springs, Oklahoma. It was a concession to the occasion on Adele's part that she had tied a ribbon into her long, straight plait of dark hair. But an order from the President himself would not have convinced Adele Johnston West to wear makeup or shoes with high heels or any dress fancier than the homemade confection she had on today, which – another concession to fashion – _had some lace!_ Adele's sheer politeness and virtues, Lily didn't doubt, could outshine those of any of the society women casting sidelong glances her way, but . . . .

The steamy temperature inside Madamoiselle Cecilia's establishment also made it clear that the Gordon-West party was both overdressed and underdressed. They had all put on their warmer dresses with full petticoats and jackets as well as outerwear to avoid the chill while taking the horse trolley into town. Now those heavy outfits might be considerably less comfortable than they'd reckoned on. Many of the other women present were wearing more fashionable, off-the-sleeve gowns that did not cover their shoulders, regardless of whether those shoulders might merit covering or not. Established customers, many of them from their look, had brought small hand fans as well, of the sort one more regularly applied during the summer. Lily was grateful to see that there were one or two other ladies, isolated individuals who appeared to be as out-of-place as her group was, and felt better when the buzz of conversation resumed in the room and a few of the more censorious-looking heads turned away from them.

_Well, if we wished to find a shark pool to teach Amanda to swim in . . . ._

Fortunately, this was a shark pool with flawlessly polite waitstaff, plenty of liquid refreshment and a very tempting selection of small pastries and finger sandwiches. By the time their initial order of tea and finger foods had arrived, Lily was feeling a little more at ease and ready to explain to her daughter just what each canapé and pastry delicacy was and how to eat them. Adele listened every bit as intently too, and she and Amanda appeared to be studying and drinking in their exotic surroundings as much as they drank in tea. Mademoiselle Cecilia's did not lack for custom even in the dead of winter and a steady stream of New World noblesse arrived until nearly every table was occupied. No one was hurried by the staff and no one appeared to be in any rush to leave, though at this rate, Amanda wondered if they ever had to turn away customers or if the tea salon had an extra reception room they could usher overflow guests into in a pinch. It _would not do_ to refuse high society of the sort Mademoiselle Cecilia's attracted. If only they didn't keep the steam radiators turned up quite so high . . . .

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

No need to break down any doors, Jim saw as he and two others reached the third floor at a run. The door to 303 and the adjacent guest room were both wide open, as was a door in between which joined the two, but had locks on both sides – locks which were now thoroughly broken. The source of the scream, an attractive young woman, stood out in the hotel hallway looking into that adjacent room – evidently hers – and let out another wail at the sight of her burgled belongings. She didn't appear to be injured or assaulted – only hysterical. The guest room's wooden wardrobe stood as ajar as the other doors, with decidedly feminine clothing and possessions scattered everywhere in front of it.

"Too late?" Artemus panted as he made it up the stairs after racing from wherever at the back of the hotel he'd been. A small crowd was starting to gather behind him as more and more people came in reaction to the initial cries of distress.

"Maybe," Jim answered. The unnamed woman might be staring only at her semi-pilfered property, but in Room 303 Jim had already spotted something that might be considered more scream-worthy – a man's body lying on the floor. He signaled to Arte and both of them stepped around the frantic female guest and her would-be rescuers to check on the other victim.

"Get a doctor!" Jim yelled back to the crowd. They didn't have a corpse on their hands yet. Even before reaching him, Jim could see the man was still breathing. The prone figure let out a groan and began to stir. Fortunately, a doctor was less than a minute in coming – there had been one already among the hallway spectators. But as the doctor and agents helped the injured man turn over and sit up, at least two of them were in for a surprise. This fallen individual was _not_ Louis Lipinski.

"Well how about that?" Artemus grinned. "If it isn't our favorite bounty hunter turned newspaper hack, ol' Lester Serling! Why, fancy meeting you here, Les!"

The injured man groaned again and reached a hand to the back of his head, now sprouting a sizable lump. He recognized his rescuers just as they had recognized him, and didn't appear happy about it.

"So how _is_ the Lester of two evils?" Arte went on. "Besides a bit concussed and sore at the moment, I mean."

"And what is he doing here?" Jim demanded. "As if we couldn't figure it out. I thought you retired from the criminal-chasing business, Les."

"I could say the same about you," Lester Serling glanced up sourly before squinching his eyes shut in pain as the doctor probed his goose egg. "Can't believe I let that damn Lip get the jump on me!"

"Seems only fair since you were evidently trying to get the jump on him," Artemus pointed out. "So it really _is_ Louie the Lip in town! But how'd you know he was here?"

Lester's answer was a grimace, and Jim accessorized it with a frown of his own.

"At a guess, I'd bet my source was looking to collect a second fee for his information," Jim said. "Would I be guessing correctly?"

"_Your_ source?" Lester argued. "_I'm_ the reporter – it was _my_ source, and he probably sold me the tip first and then shopped _my_ big story around to you two!"

"And of course all you wanted was a journal exclusive and not the reward on his head," Artemus added. "But I suppose it's at least the government reward you're after and not the Cropout gang's bounty."

"As if I'd do anything for them!" Lester snorted, then regretted it and held his head with his hand again. "Ouch! What do you take me for?"

Jim and Arte helped the wounded man up from the floor and into a chair as the doctor went to fetch his bag and – he promised – some ice, a towel and aspirin.

"Better not let the Cropouts hear you say that," Artemus advised. "They're swarming thick around the Central Depot, by the way. You might better let us handle this one, Les."

The bounty hunter/newsman groaned again, but nodded.

"You'll give me the exclusive, at least?" he pleaded. "I'd put my money on you now that I can't put it on me . . . ."

"Awww, such a flatterer!" Artemus sighed. "Unfortunately, Louie's on the lam again and probably a block or two away from here before we ever arrived. Any idea where he might have gone?"

Lester shook his aching head.

"Search me," he mumbled.

Jim was already searching Room 303 instead. It still contained a number of what must have been Louis Lipinski's personal items and clothing, though nothing particularly useful or conspicuous at first glance.

"Looks like he left in a hurry."

"Wouldn't you, if you had half the city potentially after you?" Artemus asked, assisting. "The Cropouts. Us. Lester. Who knows how many people our informants might have told?"

The agents' discussion and search of Room 303 was interrupted by the hotel manager's return with the local constabulary in tow. To their chagrin, they not only had to show their Secret Service credentials but have their identities confirmed by Lester, who was now a far more known figure to the officers for his journalist work than the formerly famous agents were. Once those identities were established, the agents had another problem: said local law enforcers, far from being resentful, were all too happy to skedaddle and leave Jim and Arte in charge of handling the disturbance – all of it.

"Well?" the woman who'd started the ruckus with her screams demanded. She'd recovered enough to switch from hysteria to outrage – no doubt a motive for the police officers' skedaddle. "What are you going to do about this?" She pointed to her still-scattered belongings lying in heaps on the floor. "Are you going to catch the robber or not?"

Artemus was on the point of suggesting to Jim that they make tracks out of the hotel to do just that when it occurred to him that if their fugitive had been responsible, he might have left some important clue behind in the mess or in something he had taken. Like it or not, they'd just gotten themselves roped into cleanup duty.

"Remind me," Arte whispered to Jim as they began the process of helping sort, hang or refold all the scattered garments, "not to take any more of your suggestions for a fun day on the town!"

[WWWWWWW]

Learning to bear with a bit of physical discomfort was part of being a lady, Lily decided, but learning to avoid heatstroke was a useful skill too. Mademoiselle Cecilia's remaining steamy, Lily had an opportunity to demonstrate the proper and least obtrusive method of loosening one's dress collar and fanning oneself with a makeshift fan, such as a café menu, say. At first she considered it odd that the purveyors of hot beverages should keep the room so warm – surely not just for the benefit of women wanting to be fashionable in off-the-shoulder fashions? But then she noticed some tables beginning to order a beverage not listed on the menu – tall glasses of iced lemonade. Yes, she was willing to bet that Mademoiselle Cecilia's did a brisk business in those too, and no doubt charged an equally larcenous price. Just how convenient and popular the option of such cold beverages might be, Lily learned to her shock when she attempted to order a round of lemonades for the table and got a most unexpected question from their waitress.

"Very good, Madame. Regular for the young lady, and should any of the others be supplemented?"

"Supplemented?"

"For . . . ." the waitress looked around at them as if only just realizing these were first time customers, ". . . . the, ah, health benefits, you know," she hinted.

_Oh, good heavens_ . . . . Exactly what sort of establishment _was_ this?

Adele's eyes went wide for a moment with equally swift uptake, but she made no complaint or attempt to force her own views on the others.

"Regular for me also, thank you!" Adele answered quietly.

"For all of us," Lily added, knowing perfectly well that her mother might not have minded giving a different answer. Prudence only shrugged, already resigned to a locale they'd thought was for tea-totalers.

"Guess now we know why the place is so popular," the older woman mumbled. "Probably dispenses more 'medicine' than a pharmacy!"

"Mother!" Lily protested in a whisper. Amanda was, as she might have expected, listening to every word and watching to learn every detail, if not quite understanding just yet. Lily's keen-eyed little darling was all too likely to get more of an education in this place than her mother intended. But the round of regular lemonades had not even arrived when Lily saw Adele West's eyes go wide with alarm and surprise again.

"Lily . . . ." the younger woman started to say and then she put a hand on her throat.

For a terrifying moment, Lily thought Adele might be choking or experiencing a _real_ medical crisis. Prudence, thinking the same thing, started to get up from the table along with Lily, but evidently that wasn't what Adele was trying to tell them. As Adele motioned for the two to sit back down, Lily noticed that Amanda was staring past them in the same direction as Adele's wide eyes now indicated. Lily turned to look behind herself and her mother as subtly as possible, and at first saw nothing alarming at all. Then she noticed that a lady sitting directly behind their table, one of their fellow misfits in overdress, had loosened her own collar and in so doing carelessly revealed something unusual. Adele's gesture hadn't been indicating her own throat – it had been her way of signaling Lily's attention to this other woman's – a throat with a very distinct and bobbing Adam's apple in it. Nine year old Amanda might not know anything about the 'medicinal supplements' the tea salon offered in their lemonades, but she did understand certain aspects of human physiology already.

"Mommy!" the little girl explained in a too-loud whisper, "I think that lady is a man!"


	4. Arms and Alarms

"That fiend!" the taskmistress now known as Miss Buxley cried. "That . . . that _thief_!"

Both Secret Service agents, impatient and exasperated after sorting through a wardrobe and temper tantrum that would have done La Diva Rosa Montebello proud, couldn't imagine there was anything of importance missing. Miss Buxley had already gone through the costume jewelry she possessed and pronounced herself satisfied (though not with the agents) that it was all there. No money had been taken, no train tickets missing, no personal letters or diary. But here, finally, was some evidence that _something_ had been stolen, and they were being subjected to more histrionics rather than simply being told _what_.

"And, ah, what exactly did this supposed thief steal?" Arte asked as patiently as he still could.

Miss Buxley shot him a look that could have grilled a cheese sandwich.

"_Supposed_ thief?" she shrieked. "Do you think I wouldn't know when I have been robbed?"

"I'm sure you do," Jim stepped into the conversation while Arte was still wincing and having flashbacks of a certain horrendous train trip to New Orleans. "What's been taken?"

"Only my _favorite_ green outfit!" She waved her arms angrily at the overstuffed wardrobe still ajar. "My dress! My beautiful dress! And even the hat and gloves that go with it! And the matching purse too!"

How she could discern _any_ clothing missing with so much of it crammed in together was a wonder, as far as Artemus was concerned, and probably whichever outfit had been taken would automatically have been declared her favorite by way of an excuse for making the loudest complaint. She certainly couldn't bemoan that she had nothing left to wear! Still, with no real valuables taken . . . .

"What would Louie the Lip want with a dress?" Jim wondered aloud.

"Louie _who_?" Miss Buxley demanded.

"What indeed," Arte murmured, though he could think of _one_ possible use, reminded as he had been about those old stories he'd rather his mother-in-law hadn't heard. Louis Lipinsky didn't have any great reputation as a disguise artist, as far as he knew, and yet . . . if one was trying to evade one's pursuers . . . . "A disguise would come in handy," he said. Of course, a disguise alone, especially without the acting talent to back it up wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't fool everyone. Nor would it be comfortable or inconspicuous in winter if Louis didn't also have a matching heavy coat. People would see right through such a guise if Louis tried to parade himself about on the streets like that, what with so many enemies on the lookout for a man with his features. A man or . . . . or . . . .

"What?" Jim asked, noticing the appalled expression on his partner's features.

Artemus knew he was probably just imagining things, just having worry-wart paranoid thoughts again, and yet . . . .

"Jim, I'm getting an idea, and . . . a bad feeling about this. A very, very bad feeling . . . ."

"Go on."

"If you were the most Wanted criminal in the city of Chicago, the guy who had dozens of enemies after him, some of them killers, where would you hide out?"

"The last place anyone would look for me, I hope."

"The _very_ last place," Artemus agreed.

The two Secret Service agents stared at one another in horrified silence for several seconds, and then bolted their way down the stairs and out of the hotel.

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

"Shhhh, not so loud!" Lily whispered urgently.

But it was too late. The 'lady' sitting behind them had obviously heard the little girl's comment. So had two other neighboring tables full of customers. Nor had Adele and Amanda been the only ones to spot the large, bobbing lump in a certain awkward tea drinker's throat. Already another woman a few tables away was whispering to one of the waitresses and pointing toward the ram in ewe's clothing.

The buzz in the room increased as observation and speculation spread like wildfire. The 'woman' in the green dress knew the jig was up, but not why, and made no effort to cover 'her' throat back up – or hide alarm either. But that alarm quickly became panic as the waitresses had a word with the head Maitresse D' and the staff began moving as a group toward the cross-dresser's table to expel this unwanted intruder.

Amanda was watching the whole scene with a wide-eyed fascination that made Lily cringe. Of course, she would never ask her young girl to lie to her father when he inevitably asked later how today's outing went. But Lily wasn't looking forward to explaining to Artemus how she'd brought their daughter to a den of covert boozers and men in dresses for the purpose of teaching her etiquette! Then Lily wondered what Adele must be thinking about all this and cringed a second time. And whatever would Jim think when _he_ heard? Well, at least Jim and Artemus both had a sense of humor . . . .

Lily felt those concerns drain away along with her own sense of humor when the situation changed to something that wasn't a laughing matter at all:

The false woman in the green dress had a gun.

No sooner had the Maitresse D', backed up by the waitstaff, reached the invader's table when a snub-nosed, very real-looking revolver emerged from a matching green handbag to point straight at them.

"Back!" the man in the green dress ordered, not even attempting a woman's falsetto now.

The Maitresse D' and waitresses immediately obeyed with their hands in the air in surrender.

_Oh, lord . . . ._

While the gun-wielding man had his focus on the staff and not on them, Lily stayed facing him but gestured behind her back for Amanda to duck and take refuge under the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Lily could see Amanda do just that, slipping out of her chair without making a sound.

_Good girl!_

Even before the playground incident last summer, Artemus Gordon had made sure his only child as well as his wife were well-versed in certain silent signals and evasive maneuvers. Young Tem and Adele West were trained in those too, the agents' greatest fear always being that one or more of their old foes might try to strike at them through their families. Lily saw Adele positioning herself as unobtrusively as possible to remain close to where Amanda crouched. Lily didn't doubt for one moment that Jim's wife would shield the child with her own body if it came to that, though Adele was small and thin as women went, and barely equal to the task. Lily and her mother didn't dare move out of their own chairs or make any other sudden, too-obvious movements that the gunman might notice. Their best hope was to block his view of the other two. They were so close . . . .

"Get back!" the gunman repeated, gesturing with the revolver at the waitstaff. Again, they obeyed. The man in the green dress no longer had to worry about being forcibly ejected. But that turned out – all of a sudden – to be the least of his problems.

Because now everyone in the tearoom could see he had a gun . . . . and not everyone was trained to keep calm in a crisis.

"Eeeek!" one woman shrieked, as if she'd seen a mouse rather than a weapon she should keep quiet in front of. She stood up only to faint right on top of her table, creating a clatter and crash of teacups while splashing down in the pastries.

At least the man in the green dress didn't have a nervous trigger finger, Lily saw gratefully. Several other women were testing that though. The first 'Eeker' wasn't the only one to shrill or to faint. Two other women began crying and wailing at the top of their lungs and a cluster, predictably, panicked or decided to take their chances and make a dash for the exit. A few others, not as close as Lily and Prudence, took refuge under their tables as well. Lily saw that the other child in the tearoom was one of them, huddled over by her protective mother as they crouched on the floor. With so much movement going on all over the room, the gunman paid no attention to Lily and Prudence at all. But if he tried to get through either of them to get at Amanda and Adele, Lily swore, he was going to find out what Fortune women were made of!

The Maitresse D', to her credit, was doing her best to calm the gunman down in the midst of the chaos he'd created.

"Sir – or Madame, if you prefer," the Maitresse D' said in a polite, even tone, "there really is no need for firearms here. If we could just come to an understanding . . . ."

"I ain't going back out there!" The gunman gestured with the revolver. "And you can't make me!"

"All right," the Maitresse nodded. "Of course we won't. We'll be happy to serve you anything you wish, in fact. If you could just see your way clear to allowing our other customers to . . . ."

The Maitresse D's voice trailed off as more sounds of alarm and dismay began to erupt behind her. Lily, who'd been keeping as much attention focused on the gunman and Maitresse as possible, now looked past them to see what was going on near the front of Madame Cecilia's. The women who'd made a dash for the door there hadn't exited. In fact, they were backing up in the direction they'd come from, hands raised. A second or two later, it wasn't hard to see why. Madame Cecilia's now had a new set of customers blocking the entrance – at least three of them – decidedly male and with more and bigger guns.

"That's okay, Louie," one of the new arrivals snickered. "You don't have to go out there – we can deal with youse right here!"


	5. An Unexpected Turn

"Just when we thought things couldn't get any worse," Prudence muttered in a whisper.

Lily was doubly glad now she'd gotten Amanda to duck under the table and wished more than ever she could take refuge there too. She and Prudence still didn't dare make any sudden movements that would draw attention to themselves. But if the man in the green dress – Louie? – was paying no attention to them, it was because three other guns were pointed their way. Any bullets fired from these might fly past their intended target and strike the women instead. Though no bullets had been fired – yet. Was a shootout at the O.K. Cecilia Ranch about to begin? Lily wondered how fast she and her mother could dive for safety if it did. Fast enough?

_Oh, Artemus,_ Lily thought. What if she never saw him again? What if she died here today and did to him what she had feared he would do to her? Did he know how much she loved him? And Amanda . . . . How foolish the stupid concern for manners that had brought them here today seemed now!

"Stay back!" Louie yelled, pointing his little revolver at his new opponents. "Stay back or I'll . . . I'll shoot!" The threat would have sounded better with more bark and less whimper. The trio of men with guns weren't very impressed by this bluff either.

"Youse gotta be kiddin' me, bookworm boy," the one who'd called him Louie smirked. "You prolly don't even know how to fire that thing!"

_Please don't try, please don't try!_ Lily silently begged. If anything could start a deadly fusillade, some terrified bravado by Louie would.

Louie seemed to know that too. His gun hand trembled like a leaf, but he didn't pull the trigger. At the same time, his better-armed opponents didn't move any farther forward. The stalemate couldn't last forever though, especially with the two sides so mismatched. Any hope of rescue from outside was soon cut short as the leader of the heavily-armed trio gestured and one of his associates locked the tearoom's front door, flipped around its Open-Closed sign and pulled shut the curtains on the café's street-side windows. Businesses in Chicago were notorious for keeping all manner of irregular hours. Would anyone on the outside wonder or care what was going on inside?

"You . . . you can't kill me in front of all these witnesses!" Louie stammered, gesturing wildly with his free hand at the other tables.

"Who said anythin' about killing you?" the lead man grinned. "An' who said anythin' about witnesses? Youse ladies don't see nothin' going on here now, do you?"

If the unnamed thug had been hoping for a conforming classroom nodding like obedient schoolgirls, he was in for a disappointment. Several women _did_ nod agreement. Others were too terrified and weeping bitterly. The companions of those few who had fainted at the sight of the first gun were still trying to revive them. Two women, possibly a bit drunk from their 'medicinal' lemonades, were actually giggling. The small remainder sat stone-faced and unamused at their chortling host's suggestion. Lily, her mother and Adele could be included in the stone-faced category, and Lily wondered if that was her best choice. Should she be acting more silly, frightened and helpless in order to gull these men? It wasn't as if she didn't know how to act, after all. These thoughts were still swirling in her head when a dignified, elderly woman at another table drew the gunmen's attention.

"Anything," the woman said very loudly in the semi-stilled room.

"Huh?" The lead mobster turned to her.

"Your use of a double negative is incorrect grammar," the old woman lectured him. "One doesn't say 'you don't see nothing.' One says 'you don't see _anything_.' That is the proper way of speaking."

The thug was not amused. But neither was the old woman, who must have had nerves of pure steel, if not the greatest survival sense. She positively glowered as he waved his gun in her face.

"Lady," he snorted, "the only reason I never shot my schoolteacher is 'cause I din't go to no school! Now keep your trap shut while my ol' pal Louie an' me got some unfinished business to take care of. Ain't that right, Louie?" The thug turned his attention back to his original target, whose whole body was now shaking as badly as his gun hand. "Phil, take that thing away from him before he goes an' hurts somebody with it."

The same underling who'd locked the front door and flipped the sign walked toward Louie, gun raised, with little apparent fear of being shot. The trembling cross-dresser didn't hand over his small revolver, but neither did he put up much resistance when Phil wrestled it from his hands. The hench-thug flipped the revolver around in his own hand, looking back at his boss – who nodded – and then whipped the quivering Louie with the tinier revolver hard enough across the face to knock him to the ground, almost crashing into Prudence as he fell. Louie was lucky not to get a swift kick from Prudence in addition to the pistol punch, from the disgusted look on her face. Lily wasn't feeling too much sympathy for him herself, but neither did she like the other men or the idea of what might happen next. No shootout perhaps, but she sensed a murder on the horizon. She didn't want to witness that, and she didn't trust that a trio of potential killers wouldn't try to eliminate more than one victim. Of all times for her and Adele not to have their husbands around! Artemus was no quilt when it came to dealing with criminals such as these. He and Jim would've made short work of this lot, Lily was sure. Alas, they were _not_ here, could not possibly be here . . . .

Which meant that if there _was_ a way out of this sticky situation, it would be up to a woman to find it . . . .

[WWWWWWWWWWWWW]

The Chicago that had emerged from the Great Fire of '71 had many positive and newfangled attributes. Ease of navigating its capacious streets on horseback wasn't always one of them.

"Damn it!" Artemus swore as yet another cluster of trade wagons, horse trolleys, merchant carts and pedestrian clumps blocked their path as they'd been doing at every turn. Neither man could have explained _why_ exactly they needed to get to Mademoiselle Cecilia's Tearoom so fast. It wasn't as if they knew for sure that was where they'd find Louie the Lip. Call it being a worry wart, put it down to a touch of Miss Phalah's inexplicable psychic gift, or describe it as something even more ethereal yet no less real – the bond that exists between true soul-mates. Arte couldn't escape the feeling that his precious Lily was in danger right now – which meant that his equally precious daughter must be in peril too, and yes, even his fire-breathing dragon of a mother-in-law as well. It was no comfort to know Jim was just as worried about his beloved Adele for the same indefinable reason. The two agents _had_ to get to a tearoom they weren't – technically – even allowed to enter, and the entire city seemed to be conspiring to get in their way. There might not have been much appreciable traffic early this morning or still two hours later, but noon and the first mild weather in weeks brought out the full congestion of humanity and equinity.

"There has to be some way around this," Artemus gritted his teeth in frustration. It wasn't a simple matter of driving their horses up onto the crowded sidewalks; the sidewalks were blocked by stacks of crates, merchant shelves and goods-hawker tables also, not just people who could dash out of the way.

"Over there?" Jim asked, pointing to an alleyway. Neither agent had the layout of this portion of town memorized. An unfamiliar alley was as likely to lead to a dead end as to a convenient passage around obstacles. It was a chance they'd have to take. Making their way around pedestrians as best they could, they directed their horses into the alley and toward what appeared to be a promising passageway. The alley did indeed lead to another and then another pointing toward the direction they wanted to head in. There was even a friendly-looking workman down near a T-junction who might have been placed there to direct those needing a way from the blocked main street.

"You gents looking for a detour?" the workman asked.

"Sure are," Jim said, moving his mount forward first.

"Well, maybe our luck is changing after all," Arte smiled grimly, following.

Too late for a quick retreat, they heard the workman give a loud whistle and saw him signaling to an unseen party. Men with guns boiled out into this section of alleyway to surround the agents on all sides – men whose faces Jim and Arte recognized all too well from federal law enforcement files. Members of the Cropout Gang.

"I'll say your luck is changin', gennulmen!" Chris Cropout, one of the gang's leaders grinned around the toothpick sticking out between his teeth. "And we're gonna give you a detour like no other!"


	6. A Matter of Timing

"Uh, boss?" Phil asked, looking around at the women in the tearoom now that Louie had been disarmed, "What we gonna do with all of _them_?"

Exactly what Lily wanted to know . . . .

"I mean, I know what we're gonna do with Louie here, but . . . ."

"Shaddup," Phil's boss said.

Lily, in her long career as a stage actress, had become adept at reading people's faces. She didn't like what she was reading in the head thug's eyes right now – uncertainty. Beneath the as-yet-unnamed crime boss' swagger lurked a dangerous indecision. Dangerous because it meant he not only was capable of anything, he might feel pushed – cornered – into taking drastic action.

_He doesn't have a plan_, Lily realized. Not for how to handle an entire roomful of thirty or so potentially hostile witnesses/hostages who might _also_ feel pushed to drastic action. The three gunsels had been so focused on procuring their target, they hadn't figured out quite how to make a clean getaway with him once they did. They might have followed Louie here after seeing through his disguise and thought this just a small café with only a few easily cowed onlookers – a quick and simple grab job with a retreat out the back to avoid being seen by anyone on the main avenue. Carrying out an armed kidnapping or a murder in front of this large an audience was another matter. So many witnesses . . . rich, respectable ones too – the kind the police couldn't afford to dismiss or disbelieve. The men must be wondering how many unseen staff might be working in back, and whether they'd noticed what was happening up front and gone for help. Lily fervently hoped so.

Unfortunately, the lead gunman anticipated that little problem too, possibly before Lily did, and sent his other hench-thug back to secure the kitchen. This other armed flunky performed the job with as much obedience and efficiency as his colleague Phil. Less than a minute after entering the kitchen, the thug returned, frog-marching three additional Mademoiselle Cecilia's employees with his pistol pointed at their backs.

"Caught 'em all napping, boss," the man grinned. "An' ain't this supposed to be a tea place? You oughtta getta load of the booze they got back there!"

"Booze?" the boss raised his eyebrows and grinned. "You gals got some kind a revenue racket here?" he asked the Maitresse D'.

"Certainly not!" the indignant Maitresse D' snapped. "This is a law-abiding, respectable establishment. We simply offer refreshing beverages in a wide variety to our customers, for health and medicinal purposes. That is all."

"Health an' medicinal purposes, huh?" He helped himself to a lemonade on one of the tables and took an appreciative sniff, then a gulp. He swirled the lemony liquid around in his mouth before swallowing and letting out a big sigh of satisfaction. "Some health drink," he chortled before taking another gulp. "Pure Tonic o' Tanqueray! You're using the good stuff!"

"We give our customers only the finest ingredients," the Maitresse D' sniffed. "Of course."

"Not bad, not bad," the lead thug smirked while his two henchmen began to look longingly at the other lemonades – no doubt many of them 'supplemented' – on the tables. "Sweet cheeks, that gives me an idea. We're gonna have to wait until dark to slip out the back with our good pal Louie here, an' that means we, an' you ladies, got some time to kill. And you're all gonna be real, real well-behaved 'cause you don't want us killin' nothing else, understand?"

This time the criminal got a more uniform affirmative response from his audience, though the ladies might all still have differing views of their situation.

"That's better," the gunman nodded, smirking as the elderly 'schoolteacher'-type woman scowled and grimaced more at his every grammatical error. "Glad ta' see at least some of youse has some sense! Now here's the deal: our beef is with the crumb-bum over there," he gestured at Louie, "who cost us a bunch o' dough with some phony stock certificates. You don't gotta pity him none."

"Bryce, I – I . . . ." Louie stammered, putting a name at last to the boss of the three.

"Shaddup!" Bryce yelled, crossing the room with speed and pistol-whipping the miserable man in the green dress again. This time, while Louie was still stunned, Bryce ordered Phil to tie Louie's hands behind his back, while the angry boss used two of the large cloth table napkins to gag him.

"That oughtta keep yer yap quiet," Bryce said as the captive now stared up at him in terror. "An' we're gonna get what's comin' to us an' then some. There's some guys willin' ta pay real well to keep that mouth a' yours shut."

Through the napkin-gag, Louie whimpered, then fell silent as Bryce gestured with the pistol, threatening to hit him again.

Bryce and his pals would 'get what was coming to them,' if Lily had any say in the matter, she thought. It was obvious now that the three gunmen, while they might not murder Louie themselves, intended to turn him over to someone who definitely would. Louie was a thief and a cheat, as well as a coward, from the sound of it, but he didn't strike Lily as the killer type himself. He didn't deserve an unpleasant death from men nastier than Bryce and his cronies. But what could she possibly do to stop them? If only there were _something_ . . . .

"So here's how it is," Bryce continued, settling down in one of the few empty chairs to be had. "Us and youse are gonna all sit back an' continue this nice li'l tea party. Only we don't want just tea. Don't worry," the gangster cackled at the Maitresse D'. "We won't take much a' yer 'quality ingredients' – no drinkin' ourselves under the table. Don't get yer hopes up. An' speakin' of under the table . . . ."

Lily's heart skipped a beat as she realized where Bryce's gaze was focused. Mademoiselle Cecilia's didn't have the kind of long, opaque tablecloths that concealed their table legs all the way to the floor. In spite of her and her mother and Adele West's best efforts to obstruct the gangster's view, he had spotted Amanda Gordon in her crouched position underneath the table. His gaze darted to where the other mother who'd brought a young child with her was trying to shield _her_ little girl.

"Olly olly oxen free," Bryce sneered. "Come out, come out wherever youse are."

"No! No, please!" the mother of the other girl pleaded, while trying to cover over her daughter with her own body. Lily herself wasn't the pleading type, nor was her mother. She wasn't sure she _could_ claw the man's eyes out before he shot her, but so help her, if this man lay one finger on her little Amanda . . . !

"I don't hurt no kids," Bryce muttered, "but don't think you can hide anythin' from me. That sort'a thing puts me in a real bad mood. An' you don't want me in a bad mood now, do ya?"

Reluctantly, the other mother, shaking with terror, came out from under the table with her child clinging to her all the way. Unbidden, Amanda stood up from where she'd been crouched as well, giving Bryce a scowl that she normally reserved for haircuts and Brussel sprouts.

"That's better," Bryce said. "Now settle down and let's us all enjoy a nice tea party, okay? Just not all tea. Can't have all you lot givin' me any trouble though," he looked at the café's captive staff. "No little tricks or hidden weapons or sneaky ways out. You know the place too well. Think I'll get some volunteers ta serve us. Now who wants to wait table for us instead?"

As the hoodlum looked around the room, grinning, Lily felt her heart beating faster and she suddenly had an idea. Yes! This was just the opportunity she needed! Now to put those acting chops of hers to good use . . . .

"I'll do it!" she volunteered quickly, standing up and feigning a touch more fear than she really felt. "I – I used to be a cocktail waitress when I was younger. I know all about it! Just please, please don't hurt my little girl!"

"All right," Bryce smirked. "An' take her an' Sister Sunday there ta help youse as well," he gestured at Adele, snickering. "Maybe youse can show her how ta mix somethin' more'n just lemonade."

_I certainly will_, Lily thought, _though not the way you expect!_

Jim's wife rose stiffly, face straight, placing a protective arm around Amanda's shoulders.

"An' don't even think about escapin'," Bryce cautioned. "Granny's stayin' here with us, an' she's gonna be real, real well behaved too, ain't she?"

_She'd better be_. Lily gave her mother what she hoped was meaningful enough, since being called 'Granny' was enough to bring out a scowl on Prudence's face that not only saw Amanda's but raised her a serving of lima beans as well. But Prudence knew how to be practical too. She might not know what her actress daughter was up to, but she knew how to play a supporting role. With a grunt, she nodded, and that seemed to be enough to satisfy Bryce.

"A round a' these Tanqueray Gin lemons for me 'n' the boys, then," the lead thug ordered. "An' make 'em strong!"

"I will," Lily promised, clutching tight her pocketbook as she, Adele and Amanda headed back toward the Mademoiselle Cecilia's kitchen. _I'm going to make them the strongest you've ever had . . . ._

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

"When you said today would be a snap, I didn't think you were referring to bear traps," Artemus grumbled. "Shades of Norbert Plank all over again . . . ."

Jim didn't bother to respond with more than a rueful glance while trying to examine their current surroundings. Both agents had been deprived of their guns (the visible ones, anyway) and were now sitting strapped into stiff wooden chairs inside a downtown carriage house loft. Their 'host,' Robert 'Big Bobby' Cropout, stood gloating in front of them and puffing on a cigar while nephew Chris Cropout and his men looked on, smirking.

"Well, well, well, boys," Big Bobby crowed to his nephew and the underlings, "not quite the special haul I was looking for, but not bad – not bad at all! So – the high and mighty Mr. James West and his partner Mr. Gordon. Merely pathetic it seems, if you ask me." By way of proving it, he leaned over Jim and blew a large cloud of cigar smoke into the agent's face. "Someone told me you two retired. Looks like you should have. But then," he knocked a bit of ash onto Jim's shoulder, "maybe we could take care of that little detail for you! Unless, of course, either of you gents would care to tell me where you were headed in such a hurry this afternoon?"

"Oh, we read there was a new exhibit of paintings at the museum," Arte quipped, trying to take Big Bobby's attention off of Jim, "and you know how crowded those galleries can be if you don't-"

The rest of Artemus' sarcastic reply was cut off as the Cropout boss backhanded him across the face hard enough to give him a bloody lip.

"A wise guy, huh?" Big Bobby snorted before puffing another cloud of cigar smoke, this time into the older agent's face. "In case you two hadn't heard, I don't have a reputation of being the nicest guy in this town. Right now, for example, I'm in the mood to be nice, but that can change real fast. If you want to be smart – and alive – you'll answer my questions with a bit more respect. Got it?"

Neither agent answered, but Big Bobby ignored their stony silence, pacing back and forth between them, continuing to puff on his cigar. He drew to a halt and was about to say something more to the captives when he was interrupted by the clattering of footsteps coming up the carriage house steps and an excited gang courier bursting into the room.

"Boss, Boss!" the new arrival yelled. "Someone thinks they spotted 'im!"

Who the 'him' in question was, the courier didn't say, not that he needed to. But Big Bobby and Chris Cropout exchanged nods and hustled over to where the courier stood, signaling for him to stay quiet. Only then did the courier spot the two bound Secret Service agents listening just as eagerly. The gang might consider Jim and Arte helpless, but its leaders didn't care to be generous with the courier's news.

"Mace, Dicky, keep an eye on them," Big Bobby ordered with a backward glance at the two prisoners. "Well, well, gents – we may not need you after all! Too bad for you, huh?"

With that, Big Bobby, Chris Cropout and all but two of their enforcers hurried out of the room and down the stairs for a more private conference with their messenger. Artemus waited until their noise had died away before he exchanged a meaningful, small nod of his own with Jim. Mace and Dicky, the two guards left behind, were keeping their attention focused on Jim and not on the subtle movement of Arte's right arm against the strap holding it or on his palming of the small object he'd had up his sleeve.

"Say there," Arte called to the pair of Cropout henchmen, "I don't suppose either of you gentlemen knows the time right now, do you?"

Mace – or Dicky, the agents couldn't tell which was which – snickered at the question.

"Sure I got the time," the snickerer said, pulling out a pocket watch. "What's it to you?" The swinging watch showed a quarter past three.

"Well, as my Great Aunt Maude always said, knowing what time of day it is gives a man the chance to catch his breath."

Knowing that Jim would understand what was about to happen, Arte took a deep breath and held it in as he released and tossed the object he had palmed. A sphere approximately the size and appearance of a golf ball clunked and bounced across the floor toward the unsuspecting henchmen. As they looked down to see what it was, the small ball burst open and enveloped both guards in a sudden cloud of bright red smoke. Mace and Dicky dropped like flies, unconscious on the floor of the loft. The agents waited a minute for the cloud to dissipate before daring to let out their own breaths and start inhaling again. Then it was Jim's turn to act. The gang had secured the agents' arms and upper bodies to the chairs, but not their legs – a carelessness the Cropouts would regret. Jim now pressed the sides of his boots together, causing a sharp triangular blade to project out the front of the boot on the right. With a bit of maneuvering, the agents pulled their chairs into position so that Jim could bring his leg up and carefully cut away at one of Arte's wrist straps. Arm untied, it took Artemus only a few moments more to untie himself the rest of the way and then free his partner. As the agents retrieved their guns from where the gang had left them and deprived the unconscious guards of _their _firearms, Arte paused to get a good look at the henchman's pocket watch.

"Well?" Jim asked.

"Not our worst time," Arte frowned, "but at least three minutes off our record. That's what we get for being out of practice! And speaking of practice . . . ." He and Jim took up positions on either side of the door as two pairs of footsteps – one set heavy and trudging – sounded on the stairs.

The triumphant grin on Big Bobby Cropout's face vanished upon entering, seeing Mace and Dicky sprawled unconscious on the floor and feeling the barrel of Jim's revolver pressed up against his temple.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't our old friend Robert," Artemus smiled, holding his own gun on the unfortunate solo underling the big boss had brought up with him. "And a friend of his too!"

"Robert Cropout, I'm placing you under arrest," Jim added, "on a charge of kidnapping and imprisonment of duly authorized federal law enforcement agents."

The Cropout gang leader had sense enough not to argue with Jim's gun at least, but began swearing a murderous streak under his breath.

"Such language!" Arte clucked. "And kidnapping federal agents? Tsk tsk! That sort of thing can earn a fellow serious time in the pen, you know!"

Underneath the banter, he and Jim exchanged cautious gazes. They knew they weren't out of the woods yet, and neither were their loved ones . . . .


	7. Desperate Measures

_Thank heavens for worry-wart husbands_, Lily Fortune Gordon thought as she felt inside her pocketbook for the small, thick glass bottle of liquid she always carried in it at Artemus' insistence. Not that she'd ever blamed him one bit for worrying about her after the Dr. Loveless encounter that ironically had led to their engagement and marriage years earlier. How odd that she should owe all her present happiness to a mad villain's revenge plot back then. But her future happiness – and that of her family – might well depend on the contents of this one innocent-looking little flask now. Yes – there it was, right next to the phial of smelling salts.

"Lily . . . ." Adele whispered in dismay as the two women (and one nine year old girl) confronted the impressive cabinet of 'health supplements' in the Mademoiselle Cecilia's kitchen.

"Don't worry," Lily whispered back. "I'll mix the drinks – not you, and I'll make them exactly what those men are expecting, complete with plenty of supplement." She pulled the bottle of 'Artemus Gordon Special Recipe no. 5' out and held it up to the light to examine with satisfaction the contents. "Lemonade and gin and . . . tonic."

While her two companions watched, Lily mixed together three tall, cool glasses of lemonade, Tanqueray (three fingers per), but then hesitated as she got a spoon to measure out the doses from her special bottle. _Oh, dear, _she really wished she'd paid more attention to some of Artemus' instructions. "Now how much did he say to use when adding to hard liquor again?" Too high a dose in combination with strong alcohol could be dangerous, she recalled. She wanted to knock the gunmen out quickly and completely, not kill them. Why couldn't she remember the exact proportions Artemus had told her at a time like this? She never got stage fright; she shouldn't have mixology fright now.

To her astonishment and Adele's, Amanda reached out and lifted the bottle of Tanqueray, though not to drink from it. Lily's little girl examined the 'proof' number on the label, scrutinized the gin lemonades, the clear liquid in Lily's special flask and then turned to her mother with the answer.

"Three quarters of a teaspoon in each, Mommy."

Both women stared at the child for a moment. Then Lily, not doubting the mathematical or chemistry talents of her little prodigy for one minute, measured out the doses, stirred the cocktails and placed them on a serving tray.

"You little scamp," she said to Amanda, "you've been reading your father's notes on the sly again, haven't you?"

Amanda's response was a wide-eyed, innocent stare with no verbal comment or commitment, as Lily had come to expect already. Lily sighed and brushed a hand over Amanda's dark, curly locks affectionately. There were worse things than having an intelligent child who took after her parents, she decided.

Enough hesitation – time to raise the curtain for the next act, and what an act Lily expected it to be!

Picking up the tray and leading her charges back to the main room where the gunmen, their captive and all the other customers/hostages awaited, Lily had no problem resuming her 'slightly nervous volunteer' persona as last minute doubts set in. This wasn't really stage fright, because they weren't in a play. It was all too real, with stakes that were much too high. What if the gunmen suspected something? What if the sleep potion she'd used took too long to work or didn't have the same effect on all three at the same time?

The cynical expression on the lead gunman Bryce's face told her she had good cause to worry.

"Took you long enough," he snorted, seeming suspicious even as his two underlings hurried forward in eager anticipation of the glasses she was about to set before them. "You would'na done anythin' funny with them drinks, would you?"

_Oh, lord._

"Funny?" Lily asked, almost in a whisper.

Then, as if on cue, like a savior/prompter from the side curtains, normally shy, soft-spoken Adele West stepped forward to reach for the tray herself in strictest temperance movement manner.

"Lily, I do not approve of serving these beverages!" Adele scolded, appearing ready to dump the whole tray on the floor.

That did the trick. The three criminals seemed almost willing to toss their guns aside in their eagerness to save the precious, frosty cocktails from destruction. Each man grabbed a glass and was already gulping it down as Lily followed up with a line calculated to further remove all suspicion for her delay.

"Oh, please – let's not start _that_ argument again!" she implored Adele.

Both women were keeping watch as surreptitiously as possible on the drinkers. If Lily – or rather her nine year old – had calculated correctly, the gunmen should be dropping off in . . . .

"Ahhh!" Bryce sighed with satisfaction, a big smile on his lips as he finished his gin-lemonade. The smile remained even as his eyes went blank and glassy and he keeled over in his chair and slid onto the floor. The two standing henchmen toppled at almost the exact same moment, like a pair of trees felled by unseen lumberjacks. It all happened so fast that the other women in the café, staff and customers alike, were left dumbfounded for several seconds. Only Prudence Fortune Peters, who'd known darn well that _her_ clever daughter had to be up to something, wasn't caught off-guard. The older woman assisted as Lily gathered up the fallen men's guns and politely asked the staff to fetch the police and help her tie the men up. The three criminals should remain out for at least half an hour from what Artemus had told her about that potion, but given the way the rest of her day had gone, Lily Fortune Gordon wasn't taking any chances.

"Thank heavens that's over!" Lily breathed with relief, holding her daughter in a tight hug. "And thank you, Adele! You're a wonder!"

"I really didn't do anything," Adele shrugged, resuming her characteristic modesty. But Lily wasn't fooled by that. Adele West might genuinely disapprove of alcohol, but at home or elsewhere, the younger woman _never_ scolded anyone for drinking. In fact, she never seemed to scold _anyone_ for anything, which somehow was remarkably effective in getting people to behave themselves around her and try to please her. Perhaps that was how Adele had succeeded where every other woman who'd ever stepped out with the wild, wild James West had failed. But Jim's quick-thinking wife had seen well enough how Bryce responded to a grammar scolding, and she was a better improvisational actress than Lily had realized. Also better armed, as it turned out. While Lily and her mother each held onto one of the gunmen's pistols in case they needed it to defend from any further threats before the police could arrive, Adele declined to accept either of the other two firearms. "I prefer the one that Jim gave me," she explained, pulling a small revolver out of her own purse.

"Oh, heavens," Lily gasped, almost breaking out laughing at the sight now that the worst was over. _We're all of us quilts of pure, solid iron, aren't we?_

The same could not be said for all of the other women in Mademoiselle Cecilia's Tearoom. There were certainly a few with nerves of steel. The Maitresse D' wasted no time in making sure the police were fetched and the unwanted male 'guests' were hogtied good and proper to await their trip to jail. The still-whimpering Louie wasn't about to be let loose either. From the sound of things, he had his own legal reckoning to face. The elderly woman who'd tried to correct Bryce's grammar was steely enough too – and very vocal in her disappointment that Lily had merely knocked the thugs out rather than poisoning them as 'they clearly deserved.' The mother of the other young girl in the café was profuse in her gratitude to Lily and Adele and, now that she knew her young one wasn't in any danger, was fully prepared to stay and be interviewed by police in order to see justice done to the scoundrels. But the ladies who'd been silly and hysterical remained silly and hysterical for the most part. Several were _not_ willing to wait around for the authorities, but fled the establishment at the first opportunity. Others were still crying or sniffling. One of the fainters had fainted all over again, and at least two women, already tipsy, were wandering around to the other tables, shamelessly snatching other ladies' lemonades, and attempting to get themselves as drunk as possible.

"What a bunch of wet blankets," Prudence grunted.

Lily had to agree. And to think that the whole purpose of coming here today was to teach her daughter to emulate women like these? Silly, helpless creatures who made her ashamed for her sex?

"Better to be a quilt of iron than a wet blanket," she murmured. Out of respect for Adele's feelings, she resisted the urge to go back to the café's kitchen for a medicinal brandy. Lily remained standing and kept a firm grip on her commandeered pistol, in spite of the wobbly-as-gelatin sensation in her legs. Yes, there was a certain satisfaction as well as relief in knowing she'd been instrumental in defeating a trio of dangerous characters. But Lily wondered for perhaps the ten-thousandth time, how on Earth did Artemus and Jim and all their Secret Service friends manage to find this sort of thing _fun_?


	8. Wrap Ups

When he'd gotten up this morning, Artemus Gordon hadn't thought that this would be one of the most desperate days of his life, but that's what it felt like now.

"Think that's the last of them?" he asked as Jim dragged in the fist-anaesthetized Chris Cropout to be locked up with the other snoozing and/or injured members of the Cropout gang.

"Probably not, but let's hope it's enough," Jim said, tossing the younger gang leader into their makeshift jail cell in a neighborhood building's root cellar. The two Secret Service agents hadn't made it far outside the gang's carriage house with their collars before Big Bobby had started yelling for the rest of his crew, calculating that Jim wouldn't dare shoot him in cold blood on the gang's turf. Jim didn't. But neither agent objected to shoving him and sundry other Cropouts down into the cellar and hitting them with another one of Arte's sleep smoke spheres. What followed had been an interesting half hour of cat and mouse with the rest of the gang, who'd turned around from wherever they'd thought Louie the Lip was to look for Big Bobby and the agents instead.

The situation was worse than dangerous – it was downright, Artemus shuddered, character-building. To make up for the fact that he and Jim had a finite supply of bullets and smoke bombs, they'd gotten in more practice with Arte's ventriloquism, Jim's martial arts and every found object they could find. Thanks to the neighborhood shopkeepers, who turned out to be none too fond of the Cropouts and their protection money racket, the agents had plenty of improvised ammunition to use. One gang member went down with his arms pinned to his sides by Christmas wreaths, and who knew leftover fruitcake made such an effective bludgeon?

Five minutes later and with something other than a hall decked, the weary agents fastened the cellar shut with a padlock, an improvised metal crossbar, two nails and a holiday garland that had seen better days.

"Tinsel, Arte, really?" Jim raised an eyebrow as his partner tied part of this final safeguard into a semi-pretty bow.

"Sure," Artemus grinned. "It's better than the nails. Have you ever tried to untangle one of these damn things?"

Jim shook his head.

"It ought to hold them for a little while," he frowned. It was unlikely the shopkeepers would let the gang loose. But they'd need to find some trustworthy, unbribed police to report their catch to, and that wasn't their only problem.

"We've _really_ got to find Louie the Lip now," Arte muttered. Receiving some anonymous help from the shopkeepers was one thing; getting those same individuals to testify against the gang in a court of law was quite another. Without Louie, it would be Jim and Arte's word against the Cropouts. Not that their word wasn't better, but . . . .

"Family first," Jim said, expression grim. The worst danger in the city might well be locked up for now. That didn't change the troubling suspicion they'd had prior to their short-lived captivity. It might be the wildest of hunches, but they'd both learned to trust their hunches, and the gang's information was that Louie had been spotted, green dress and all, in the same neighborhood as Mademoiselle Cecilia's Tearoom.

It was barely four o'clock, but the winter darkness was already starting to fall as the pair finally turned the corner that would take them to the business where no men were catered to, supposedly. They hadn't had to worry about crowds blocking their way by this time of afternoon, and the entire ride there, Artemus had tried telling himself that his horrifying hunch would come to nothing. That the certainty he'd felt that Lily was in trouble was all stuff and nonsense, and that she'd tell him as much herself, assuming she, Amanda, Prudence and Adele hadn't tired already of their etiquette exercise and taken an earlier horse trolley back to Millwood Grove already. But as they approached the café, a sight appeared that made a fist-sized lump practically leap into his throat. There was Mademoiselle Cecilia's Tearoom all right, surrounded by a crowd of people, a number of whom were policemen. What, exactly, had happened here? What if . . . ?

Hearts pounding, he and Jim dismounted and ran toward the crowd and the café. A familiar figure, now wearing a bandage around his head, waved to greet them. But Lester Serling, with his reporter's pad and pencil out and an ear-to-ear grin on his face rather than a headachy grimace, wasn't acting as if anything tragic had occurred here – just the opposite.

"Howdy, boys!" Les called out. "You're too late! Louis the Lip is now under wraps and headed for the hoosegow!"

Even as Lester said it, a shamefaced Louis Lipinski, still wearing a green dress but stripped of all other accoutrements, was led out in handcuffs between two smirking police officers. Judging from the jeers and catcalls of the crowd, the unfortunate Lip was going to have a harder time living down his cross-dressing stunt than any of the mild jokes Arte'd have to deal with.

"And no one hurt – except for your noggin?" Artemus asked.

Les shook his bandaged head and grinned even wider. If he had expected the two agents to be disappointed that they hadn't made the arrest, he was in for a surprise. The Secret Service partners both breathed heavy sighs of relief at the news there were no other casualties.

"So do we owe you congratulations, Les?" Jim offered.

"Not me!" the bounty hunter/journalist laughed. "You're not gonna believe this, but some ladies in the tea place bagged our bird for us! And they took out Bryce Maxson and two of his bully boys as well! So now that Lipinski's been collared, all the cops still have to do is round up the Cropout gang!"

"We just took care of about half the job for them," Jim muttered, before sidestepping Lester to head straight toward the entrance of the café just as another group of police officers was hauling out Bryce Maxson and his enforcers, also in handcuffs and so woozy they were being half carried along by the arresting officers. Artemus matched him step for step and Lester attempted to do the same. "I have a feeling I know who those women are," Jim said, and Arte nodded agreement.

"What?" Lester gaped, trailing after them. "The police wouldn't let me in, so I had it secondhand! And the Cropouts? I want that exclusive!"

The police officers nearest the front door of the café were still holding the crowd back, so Lester could only watch in envy as Jim and Arte flashed their Secret Service credentials and got ushered into no man's land. Artemus recognized right away the high-ranking city detective conducting interviews, but he was far more interested in the persons being interviewed – and they certainly recognized _him_!

"Daddy!" Amanda cried, rushing over to give her father a hug. Artemus hugged her back even harder, almost giddy with relief.

"And how's my little lady?" he asked, taking a good look at her, wondering if she'd been traumatized or frightened after what must have been a terrifying experience. Terrifying to _other_ children, anyway. Amanda appeared more excited than scared – not at all like the girl who'd been brought to tears and terror by a playground bully last summer.

"We had a really interesting day today!" Amanda gushed. "I learned a lot and I got to help Mommy and Aunt Adele-"

Whatever she was about to say she'd helped with, Amanda's speech was cut short by her mother leaping up to interject herself into the conversation and her husband's embrace.

"Oh, Artemus!" Lily exclaimed, kissing him full on the lips and holding onto him for dear life for just a few seconds before pulling back and somehow looking both relieved and angry at the same time. "A fine thing!" she scolded. "You and Jim gallivanting around town and having fun all day while we needed you, and then showing up when the danger's all over!" Then she noticed for the first time his split and bloodied lip. As she traced the cut with her fingertip, a hint of suspicion added itself to the relief/anger mix. "You _were_ gallivanting and having fun today, weren't you?"

Artemus knew better than to give a straightforward answer, at least in front of their daughter and his mother-in-law.

"We, uh, had an interesting day too," he said diplomatically. He wasn't fooling anyone here for one second, though. Young Amanda looked _very_ interested in his 'interesting,' and so did Prudence and Lily. "But maybe you'd allow me and Jim to have a private word with the good detective when he has a chance?" Artemus asked loudly enough for the police official in question to take notice. "We might be able to clear up another small matter for him."

"Small matter!" Detective Grady harrumphed hard enough to make his mustache quiver. "I'll be having the rest of your Secret Service and half the law in the country breathing down my neck to get a crack at the culprits these gals, uh, I mean ladies, caught! You have any catch that big for me, Gordon?"

"We, er, might," Artemus said, wishing Grady had taken the hint about 'private conversation' a bit more seriously. If Lily had been annoyed at the thought of him and Jim having a mere frivolous afternoon outing, he might really find himself walking the plank for not doing so. Mindful of his daughter's and Prudence's presence though, he'd just have to risk the Tiger Lily's delayed wrath. He leaned over and whispered the names of the Cropout gang leaders and point men he and Jim had left gift-wrapped for the Chicago constabulary to pick up. The detective didn't repeat the names out loud, but Grady's wide eyes and low whistle wasn't going to help Arte's case any with his deservedly suspicious soulmate. Lily said nothing, but her raised eyebrow was worth a thousand words.

"I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, aren't I?" he sighed, and saw her nod. He could only shrug and return a raised eyebrow of his own. "Jim, why do you suppose they're called the _fair_ sex?" Artemus heard no response. "Uh, Jim?" He turned around and saw Jim in a silent, passionate, lip-locked embrace with Adele. Which was, Artemus reflected, as good an answer as any. "You know," he said to Lily, trying to don his best pouty puppy eyes again. "I've got a bit of an ouchie on my lip. Think you can kiss it and make it better?"

_Thank heavens for puppy eyes . . . ._

"Oh, Artemus!" she sighed with exasperation before doing just that.


	9. Important Truths

Lester Serling was still waiting outside for his exclusive when the agents emerged arm-in-arm with their wives and Prudence and Amanda half an hour later. They owed him that exclusive, the agents decided, but not tonight. Darkness had well and truly fallen, and there was just time to catch the last horse trolley of the day back to Millwood Grove.

"Tomorrow," Jim said, "Or sometime soon." That was the most honest answer to give, with the unpredictable winter weather and the likelihood that the agents were going to find themselves grounded for at least a week after they got home and told their own stories – to their spouses if not to the whole family.

"Aw, c'mon!" Lester wailed. "At least give me the names of the women who caught Louie the Lip and Maxson!"

"West," Jim laughed, "and Gordon!"

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

The horse trolley didn't normally get its own Secret Service escort when making the trip between Chicago and Millwood Grove, but it did on this occasion. No way was either agent going to let the trolley's precious burden out of their sight for the trip home. There hadn't been time for Jim or Arte to get more than a cursory account of their loved ones' misadventures at Madame Cecilia's. Lily and Adele had already given most of their story to Detective Grogan by the time their husbands arrived. The quick summary version sounded harrowing enough, if with the amusing detail concerning the café's popularity.

"Sounds more like a tea saloon than a tea salon," Jim commented as they rode alongside the trolley close enough to carry on a conversation with its occupants in the winter evening stillness.

"Yes, well, that turned out to be a fortunate thing," Lily told them, a little shamefaced herself. "Although I assure you, I would never have brought our daughter or Adele there if I had known."

"Of course," Artemus agreed. "We should probably be careful not to mention any of this tipple-tattle to Ma Johnston when we get back. She'll be thinking we Gordons are a bad influence!"

"Speak for yourself," Prudence Fortune Peters grumped, and Jim laughed and nodded agreement.

Arrangements had been made the day before for Adele's parents and Lyle to have a warm supper for the returning party up at the West house – since Ma Johnston was both insistent and an excellent cook. It occurred to Artemus that, mother-in-law sarcasm aside, he was soon going to have to do a lot of the group's speaking for them if they wanted to come up with some account of their day on the town that wouldn't be too upsetting for the Johnstons. Lyle could be told the whole, unvarnished truth later, and Artemus didn't doubt that seven year old Tem West would get some interesting details out of his child co-conspirator at some point, if not from his parents. Artemus started to go over in his mind what he _could_ say to Jim's Oklahoman in-laws that wouldn't be a lie, since Adele didn't approve of lying, naturally.

_Let's see . . . . We had an adventurous time and all of us met some interesting people . . . . Jim and I ran into an old acquaintance in the news business and were given a few Christmas leftovers by some friendly neighborhood folk, but left those behind . . . ._

He exchanged knowing glances with Lily and knew she was coming up with her own version of honest flim-flam for her half of the story. The other adults involved could play along too. The real wild card would be young Amanda, who would no doubt be asked by her 'honorary grandparents' all about her big day out.

_From the mouths of babes . . . ._ he pondered.

In the end, Amanda's parents and Jim and Adele needn't have worried. Unsuspecting little Tem helped solve the problem by bubbling over with questions about what sort of pastries and goodies the tearoom had and whether they'd brought him anything from the big city. Adele raised a hand to her face and gave a chirp of genuine alarm at the realization that she'd forgotten to pick up any souvenir gift for her son. Jim rectified matters by promising to buy a bag of sweets for both children, since he and Uncle Arte had to return to Chicago in the next couple of days 'to do some paperwork.'

"As if I didn't bake cookies for you, young man!" Ma Johnston remarked to her grandson. _That_ led to some definite interest for Amanda and the two children got into an intense discussion concerning the mini pastries and cakelets at the tearoom, and what _kind_ of cookies and were there any left, etc. To her parents' amazement and relief she uttered not a word at dinner about armed gangsters, men in dresses, drugged cocktails or anything else which would have upset her 'honorary grandparents.' Which just went to prove, as Artemus remarked to Lily later in private, that either their daughter was even swifter on the uptake than they'd realized, or she was truly obsessed with dessert.

"Who's to say she can't be both?" Lily asked. "Artemus, our daughter is going to be a remarkable woman someday."

"Like her mother," Artemus smiled.

Lily adored that smile of his, and the rest of the man attached to it, cut lip and all. She knew what she needed most right now, after the day she'd had, the day they'd both had. But before she and that adorable, infuriating, charming man of hers could engage in some more therapeutic lip healing, she wanted to make one more check on the bedroom down the hall and assure herself that their little girl was tucked in and all right and not having any bad dreams after their nightmare of an outing. Silly, really. The danger was over and even while it was happening, Lily had seen for herself that Amanda had a more level head on those tiny shoulders than many a full-grown woman, more maturity and intelligence than any parent dared to hope for. What did all the foolish etiquette in the world compare to that? Lily was so proud of her little girl. She loved her daughter so much . . . .

One of the floorboards just outside of Amanda's bedroom squeaked as Lily stepped on it, and as she peered in at her little angel, Amanda turned her head on the pillow and peered back, not asleep yet.

"Mommy?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm here." Amanda went in and sat down by her daughter's bedside, reaching out to tousle those dark, brown curls. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" _Oh, my poor dearest. And it is all my fault for bringing you there today . . . ._

"I wasn't trying yet," Amanda admitted, though she yawned. If she was trying to put off sleep, she wasn't going to succeed for much longer. "I was wondering . . . ." A serious expression came over her small face.

"Wondering about what?" Lily asked.

"I know you and Grandma Pru want me to learn to learn to be a proper lady," the little girl said. "Did I . . . do all right today?"

"What?" Lily was startled, then realized that she hadn't told her daughter exactly how 'all right' she had been throughout the whole ordeal. "Oh, my darling! Yes! You were magnificent!" She leaned over, gave Amanda a hug and a kiss on the top of her forehead. "You did all that I could have asked of you and more, and I'm so very proud of you!"

That was all it took to change the frown on her little girl's face to a smile, followed by another sleepy yawn. So, the mischief maker really _did_ want to be an angel after all. At least sometimes.

Lily tucked her daughter in for a second time, gave her one more kiss goodnight, and marveled yet one more time at the little miracle that she and Artemus had ushered into the world.

"Goodnight, Mommy."

"Goodnight, my darling."

Lily waited until her daughter's eyes were shut and the even, restful breathing of sleep came from the bed before she got up to leave. She was careful to avoid the squeaking floor board this time, but couldn't resist the urge to take one more look back at the bed and the child occupying it. Yes, Amanda was growing up, and yes, she was indeed turning into a proper young lady. Lily felt once more the keen pang of reluctance and nostalgia that she'd felt that morning, a thousand hours ago. At the moment, Amanda looked so innocent, a little girl with little brown curls, asleep on her pillow. Her mother wished she could preserve that _now_ and keep it close always, knowing full well that she couldn't.

_Someday soon_, Lily thought at her daughter with a shiver, _you're going to stop calling me Mommy and start calling me mother, and once that happens, there's no going back. I know, because it happened to me and _my_ mother . . . ._

Someday soon Amanda wasn't going to want to be tucked in any longer, or kissed goodnight by her parents. Someday soon Lily and Artemus would cease being titans and guiding lights in their daughter's eyes and become instead the embarrassments that Amanda didn't want to introduce her young friends to, or be seen with in public. There would be fights and tears and misunderstandings and maybe, just maybe, if they were all lucky and wise enough, after those traumas of adolescence were over, a new sort of relationship bond would form between parent and child, a deeper and more understanding one that none of them could fully envision right now. But all that was in the future. Right now, in this moment, Lily Fortune Gordon was still Mommy to that girl in the bed, and she wanted to hold onto that for all she was worth. And she wanted to go back down the hall and embrace the husband she'd feared only that day she might never see again and hold onto _him_ for all she was worth, knowing he wanted to do the same with her.

It was a shame that it took the scare they'd all been given that day to help her focus on what was really most important and what was not. Oh, the quilty irony of it all! Lily laughed to herself and returned to her husband's embrace. Life itself was a miracle, after all, and sometimes you just had to let it happen. So they did . . . .


End file.
